Cursed Blood
by flyology
Summary: Hermione is the perfect Pure-Blood daughter. Smart, well mannered, and most importantly the perfect wife for her betrothed, Draco Malfoy. There's just one problem, she's not as pure as she once thought. Hermione is a mudblood and now she must face that fact. The question is: If she does can she reconcile living in a world that treats kind as second class?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:The following is based on the works of J.K. Rowling.

Prologue:

Hermione quietly made her way into the house. She was home from tea with the Malfoys early, and she wasn't sure what her parents might be doing; however, her question was quickly answered as she walked past her bedroom door and heard her father shout her mother's name: "Celeste!" Hermione paused, since the shouting could only mean one thing: her parents must be fighting again. She sighed inwardly, for she'd been hearing their raised voices ever since she'd come back for the summer holiday, and she wondered what could possibly be causing this much tension between them. Against her better judgement, she leaned lightly against the door and pressed her ear to it, eavesdropping.

Her mother's voice said in a harsh, pleading tone, "We have to tell her, Stuart! She deserves to know!"

"The knowledge would crush her. She's such a good, honest girl." Hermione's father said in a tired voice, indicating just how long this fight had gone on.

"You think we should keep her in the dark forever?" Celeste asked accusingly.

"She's only fourteen!" Stuart protested defensively.

"Fifteen," Celeste corrected, "and I think that Hermione can keep secrets and still be a part of this family."

"She would hate us if she knew!"

"How do you figure that?" Celeste asked disbelievingly.

"You know what the Malfoys think of Muggle-borns," Stuart replied, and his voice took on a pleading tone. "She simply couldn't handle it."

"I think you underestimate her strength. She's braver than both of us combined!"

Stuart hit his limit, and he raised his voice as he retorted, "We're pretty brave, Celeste. We adopted a Mud-Blood!"

Hermione and her mother simultaneously drew sharp breaths, although for different reasons. "Stuart! You shouldn't…" Whatever Celeste was going to tell Stuart that he shouldn't do was cut off as Hermione stumbled backward in shock and loudly hit the wall behind her, sliding down it. As soon as she hit the floor, her mind began to recover from the shock enough to form one thought: 'Run,' but it was too late. The bedroom door opened to reveal her parents, whose looks of shock and horror perfectly mirrored her own.

Hermione felt tears start to sting her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked in a quiet, choked voice. Hurt and betrayal overwhelmed her, and thoughts swam in her mind. 'Am I really adopted? Why didn't they tell me?'

Celeste kneeled down next to Hermione and gently pulled her into a warm embrace. "Sweetheart," she whispered, trying to find the words to continue.

"Why?" Hermione repeated, though her voice was muffled by her mother's shoulder.

Celeste drew a somewhat shaky breath before explaining soothingly, "We couldn't have children of our own, but you're ours now. We had to have a daughter, and we chose you."

Hermione heard the words, but she couldn't process them. The whole situation was too surreal. The earth continued its rotation around the sun, unaware that for one girl, the world had just ended.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The following is based on the works of J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 1:

She was surrounded by dirty cheating liars, and she fit in like an evergreen tree in a forest. Hermione Europa McClair's entire life was one big lie, and she had been made into an imposter. She kept going over yesterday's events: The punch in the gut and her windpipe closing as her lungs seized up. The comforting words that came after meant nothing.

Now in the corner of a train compartment alone for now she huddled. Hermione didn't want to see her friends today; she told herself they didn't care to see her-another lie. The sun shone distastefully on the floor and the worn velvet seat. She'd given herself 24 hours to think about this and decide what to do. In three hours it would be over, but in spite of having been awake for 21 hours, Hermione didn't have anything close to an answer. She resisted sleep with everything she had, but she felt in tugging at the edges of her mind. No, she couldn't sleep; she had to think! She told herself this so many times, until… it became… pointless…

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione!" She awoke slowly. Bright eyes came into focus first, then blonde curls.

"Daphne," she said groggily.

"I've looked everywhere for you!" Daphne scolded, "We're in Hogsmeade, come on! We're going to miss dinner."

Hermione scrambled up, hastily pulling her unruly hair into a ponytail. They ran down the train car, their trunks clunking along behind them. "How was your august?" Hermione panted as she ran.

"Oh you know, boring as ever… uh… guests almost every night, ah… piano, and, like, a lot of old lady book club meetings. You?" They leaped down the step onto the platform which was empty. "Ugh… you've made us late,"

". . . tired!" Hermione protested.

"Fine, just hurry." They jogged up the gravel drive. Fifteen minutes later they were in the entrance hall.

"Do we go in?" asked Daphne.

Hermione pressed her ear to the door, and heard Dumbledore's voice saying, "- hope you have all had a wonderful meal."

"Oh god, the feast is over!" groaned Hermione. "Dumbledore's giving his speech." She pressed her ear to the door again. Someone else began to speak . . .

"Thank you, Dumbledore, for your kind words," said a woman's light voice.

"Someone else is talking now," Hermione muttered.

"Who?" asked Daphne too loudly as she joined Hermione by the door. Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, listening. "I know her, I'm sure of it." She paused. "It couldn't be…" The woman's speech was long, but Hermione got most of it. Pruning practices, keeping old traditions-the idea was clear. The Ministry was staging an intervention at Hogwarts.

"Come on, the kitchens await," Daphne said, clearly not getting it at all. Hermione followed her down the corridor.

Hermione and Daphne ate biscuits dripping with butter and rich treacle tart. Once they were full to bursting, they parted ways. Hermione traipsed up the long flights of stairs. The feast in the great hall had ended, and Hermione quickly blended in with the rest of Ravenclaw house, who were heading up to the common room. Hermione was glad to be back with them, } away from the politics of her life. Here, her blood didn't matter; all this lot cared about was books and grades. That much she could handle.

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione sat at Ravenclaw table with her nose in a book.

"Hey," Draco said, coming to stand behind hadn't seen him since she found out the truth that she was a mud blood, and she wasn't sure how to act. 'Act normal,' her mind screamed. 'How would I normally act?!' she questioned, frantic.

"Hi," she said in noncommittal tones.

"Where were you last night and yesterday on the train?" Draco asked.

"I fell asleep on the way here, missed the feast, and went straight to bed," she said matter-of-factly.

"That's not like you," he commented. "Anyway, meet me be by the lake at twelve thirty. I have something to tell you." With that, he was gone.

Hermione was used to Draco's vague secrecy by now, but it still irked her. If he had something to say, she wished he would just say it.

Professor Flitwick was walking down the table, passing out class schedules.

"Now, Miss McClair," the little man said when he got to her, "O.W.L Potions overlaps with your extracurricular classes, so you will have to take an after supper class."

Hermione nodded since she would prefer this anyway. She suspected a number of her friends would be in them since it was mostly made up of those who took extra classes. Hermione's mother insisted upon it, hoping that her daughter would be refined in the arts.

The first class of the day was Transfiguration, then Defense Against the Dark Arts with (not quite surprisingly) Dolores Umbridge.

Three hours and a botched Transfiguration later, Hermione waited outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The Professor was already inside, and she had told Hermione to wait outside. After a few minutes, the rest of the class arrived. Among them was the friendly face of Harry Potter, her best friend in the world, and next to him was Ronald Weasley. She walked over. "How was your summer?" she asked, cheerful at the sight of Harry.

"You know he's back, Hermione," Harry replied gloomily as if her smile was offensive.

"I- Of course, you know I believe you!" she said. "No matter what the Prophet says, I know you wouldn't lie about You-Know-Who," she added in a whisper. "So, how was your summer? Muggles get you down?"

"It was… eventful… I don't know where to start," he groused. "I stayed with Sirius in Grimmauld Old Place," he added.

"What on earth, Harry James Potter?! All this was happening, and you didn't even owl me once? You must explain everything."

Just then, class began. Umbridge waited for them all to take their seats before standing.

"Hem, hem," she began in a high pitched voice that immediately put Hermione's nerves on edge. "It has come to my attention that you all are far behind the Ministry regulated O.W.L. level and that you lack the essential theory to pass the written exam, so today, we will go back to the basics. Please take out your books, and open them to page one." Hermione had already read the whole book, but she opened her book anyway and began to read. The lines of dry text stared bleakly at her, and soon her mind began to wander… Over the years, she had pretended that the adventures she and Harry sometimes shared with Ron Weasley were normal things to do. It was true, she supposed, that she'd done some things that she couldn't speak of-too many. Harry and Hermione had been friends since their first year when Harry and his best friend Ronald Weasley had saved her from a troll. Ever since then, Hermione had led a second life, one of adventure, and madness. She would never go against Draco and never blatantly break the rules, but she liked Harry, and she had known ever since their first year that he needed her. Harry couldn't have slain the Basilisk, or found Sirius Black, or won the Triwizard tournament without her. It had been fun, leading her own secret little rebellion, but it didn't seem so trivial. Now that Voldemort was back, it was no longer a safe game to play.

Now she was a mudblood. No, she had always been one, and so many things made sense now.

Her pondering was interrupted by a sharp rap on the back of her skull.

"Miss McClair, must I repeat myself?" Professor Umbridge simpered. Hermione quailed under the Professor's gaze.

Feeling heat crawl up her neck, she admitted, "I'm afraid so, Professor…"

Umbridge looked sour. "I've called on you several times, Miss McClair. Now, please answer the question. What are the uses of dragon blood?" she snapped.

Hermione usually wouldn't say anything, and she shouldn't question her superiors… but…

"What do the uses of dragon blood have to do with learning defense?" she whispered.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Miss McClair," said Umbridge.

Hermione could have stopped at that, should have, in fact, but instead… "I don't ask stupid questions," she said, loud enough this time so that the whole class could hear it.

"I am trying to prepare you to take the O. , and you must learn the curriculum provided by the Ministry of Magic," the Professor loftily.

"Oh really?" asked another voice from behind her: Harry's voice. "What happened to preparing us for the real world?"

"Mister Potter, isn't it?" asked Umbridge.

"Harry Potter."

"Well, Mister Potter, I'm not quite sure what threats you perceive but I can assure you that you are quite safe," the Professor snapped. Hermione turned in her chair to get a better look at them, and she noticed most of the class had done the same. Harry looked incensed, she wanted to do something. She had to stop him from doing something stupid, but she had a feeling it was too late.

"I don't perceive that VOLDEMORT is back," seethed Harry, "I know he's back!" Umbridge had changed from aggravated to livid.

"I will tell you this only once Mister Potter; do not tell lies, and say things you know nothing about," her tone was so pleasant it was scary. "Detention, for disrupting my classroom. I will ask you leave."

"Gladly," Harry muttered, grabbing his book bag he left.

Hermione sagged with relief, Umbridge seemed to have forgotten her.

Hermione was already in the Great Hall when she remembered Draco's appearance at Breakfast. What could he possibly want?

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who followed favorited, and reviewed this story it means so much to me, that anyone would like to read what I write. For every chapter that I write, I think it would be fun choose a song that matches the theme. For this chapter, I decided on ' _Wake Me Up'_ by Avicii, the Birdy cover.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The following is the based on the works of J.K. Rowling. I do not own the characters and do not profit off this work.**

 **Chapter Two: Words as Weapons**

The wind whispered of coming rain, and clouds dark hung low overhead. Hermione could see a tall figure (presumably Draco) standing, attempting to skip stones on the lake's choppy surface, so she ran down the slope to him. He was facing the water, so he didn't see her right away, and she cleared her throat to get his attention. He turned to her.

"Draco," Said greeted him nervously.

"Hermione," Draco replied. Hermione came to stand by his side, water lapping at the toes of shoes. Draco had dark circles under his eyes, and his robes were wrinkled as though he hadn't changed since last night. His face was more pinched and annoyed than usual.

"What is it? I have charm in fifteen minutes, so be quick,"

"I need your help . . ." He sounded uncharacteristically reluctant. He was never too prideful to ask anything of Hermione. It was hard to imagine what would make him sound like that. She folded her arms protectively over her chest.

"Okay, what is it?" She asked carefully.

"I . . . where to start . . ." Said Draco. She looked into him eyes she couldn't read this new emotion dominating his face, one she hadn't seen since they were kids.

"Try the most important part?"

Draco nodded. "Okay . . . It's two things I guess. First of all, there's this first-year girl in Slytherin, she's muggle born, and there's - something wrong her. I don't know what it is, she won't talk to any, I don't think she'd said a word since the sorting a few days ago."

"A muggle born sorted into Slytherin?" asked Hermione stupidly. "A mudblood - in Slytherin . . ."

Draco nodded stiffly, "Fiona Matthews," he said. "She might be a mudblood but she's also a Slytherin and we protect our own." Hermione was jittery with the dangerous subject, _'how would your feel if I told you I was a_ mudblood _?'_ she thought. But she said,

"Okay, so what do you want me to do about it?"

"You could talk to her, I think she would listen to you — you're the kind of person people listen to."

Hermione looked over the lake factoring this new information, "I'll meet you in the library tomorrow before breakfast,"

Draco nodded. "Okay. As for the another thing . . . it's true, Hermione." Draco leaned in. "The dark lord is back," he hissed.

"Yeah," said Hermione, "I know Draco I'm not an idiot."

"No, I - he - well . . . You knew?" stuttered Draco.

"Harry Potter and Dumbledore told everybody last year, and there's lots of evidence if you how to look for it," she explained.

Draco nodded in recognition, "The Dark Lord . . ." He leaned in, taking her hands in his. "He's so cruel, Hermione. I watched as he tortured my father, he forced me to-" Draco's voice was clipped, but she could tell he was fragile. She had been strangely worried he would find out her secret even though she knew her knowledge of it didn't change anything.

"It's okay," she said, though she knew it wasn't, and she could tell from his face that he didn't buy it either. Draco shook his head, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Remember the last time we were like this?"

"Like what?"

"Trusting; we used to tell each other everything, but this summer I only saw you when you were surrounded by your friends. Even my mother noticed she's worried,"

"I didn't know we were," said Hermione. How could he bring this sort of thing up now? "It really must be hard for you. Like The Dark Lord is back, murdering left and right, but the real issue? You can't get me to go to your dinner parties."

"Hermione, I didn't mean it that way,"

"Are you sure about that? This is exactly what I'm talking about: you come to me all pathetic and sad to win my sympathies," she cried. She ripped her hand from his . He stared at her in shock, horror, and confusion.

"What the hell?" he stammered. He looked pathetic, "Hermione," he said in a placating, condescending tone.

"Don't give me that look. Not now, honestly," With that, she turned and fled. She normally wouldn't be fit enough to make it for more than a minute, but adrenaline coursed through her veins, urging her onward. It made her whole body tingle with electricity, and before she knew it she was in the Ravenclaw dormitories.

She felt ridiculous, crying on the first day of school; she was better than this. She buried her face in a blue satin pillow to staunch the sound of her crying. She bit the pillow trying to take control.

She didn't do this.

 _'Stop it now!'_ she told herself over and over again. She gripped the edge of the duvet and pushed herself to a sitting position. The room came into focus around her, the soft blues untangling themselves into four beds, a leather trunk at the end of each, and a bookcase painted with blue Celtic runes. And Luna Lovegood in her too small robes and with hair everywhere stood in the doorway.

"Oh, I didn't see you there," Hermione said with a sniff.

"Neither did I," Luna smiled vaguely. "One never knows where one might end up." She stepped into the room, gazing around with eyes like a fawn. "What's the matter, Hermione?" she queried.

Hermione blinked hard. "It's nothing, nothing," she lied.

Luna focused her eyes on Hermione. "Well, Hermione, if you ever want to talk about it, you should know I have no friends with which to gossip . . ." Luna let her odd and unintentionally sad proclamation hang between them for a few seconds.

"Okay," Hermione broke the silence, "I'll keep it in mind." Luna left Hermione feeling even more ridiculous.

It was already far past the time she should have been in Charms but she could still make it to Study Hall if a few minutes late if she hurried. She got up, braided her hair down the back, and re-sorted her new textbooks: first by subject, then in alphabetical order. She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the common room. She didn't stop there; instead, she hurried down moving staircases and crowded corridors.

It was going to be a pinch to make it to the hall in time, and Hermione broke into a jog. Her bag bounced uncomfortably on her side, she was trying to adjust it while keeping up a steady pace, when she ran headlong into someone's chest - black teacher's robes. She squeaked and leaped backward into a suit of armor which exclaimed;

"Students!"

She looked up at the professor for the first time to see it was Snape, which only increased the colour of her already pink face, he looked disdainfully down his large nose at her.

"Miss McClair, how funny we should meet, I was just coming to find you," he said humorlessly.

Hermione smiled without feeling, "How can I help you, Professor?"

"Must I inform you, Miss McClair that you were absent during both Study Hall and Charms?"

"No sir," she murmured to her feet.

"Right. . . Mr. Malfoy and informed me that you had been quite distressed during the lunch hour."

"Well . . ." Hermione stuttered.

"Miss McClair, the Headmaster has requested to see you." Snape turned abruptly gesturing for her to follow. She didn't move, she had, after all, learned something from her Slytherin friends.

"Don't think Lord Malfoy would just love for it to get out that not only did his heirs get into a childish fight but also that his son lost? That certainly wouldn't look good for anyone."

Snape didn't look back, "I'm taking you to Professor Dumbledore," He said. She sighed but followed recognizing that Snape didn't think that was a good enough threat, which she acknowledged it wasn't.

Dumbledore looked at her sadly, "But why Miss McClair?"

"I can't say," whispered Hermione, "It's personal" she added more clearly.

"If you are being threatened in any way, it is not unprofessional to tell a teacher." He replied.

'Wouldn't you like to know,' thought Hermione, but what she said was, "I'm fine."

Dumbledore sighed, "Well with that out of the way we have a few other things to discuss before I can let you go." Hermione straightened in anticipation.

"You've skipped class twice, you've already managed to secure a detention with Professor Umbridge and fought with Mr. Malfoy. This is not like you at all. Are we to understand this is some . . . teenage rebellion?" One of Dumbledore's complicated contraptions let off a puff of sweet smelling blue steam with a whistle. She used this as a means of stalling, looking over at it as if she had never seen an alchemical converter before. When it got unrealistic that she would be so fascinated by this she turn back to Dumbledore, he was as serene as ever with his half-moon spectacles and long silver beard. "You're close with Harry Potter aren't you?" He asked. She just nodded averting her eyes to focus on her hands, with their short, practical fingernails and ragged cuticles.

Harry and Hermione had been friends ever since she'd caught Harry and Ron Weasley sneaking up to the astronomy tower with a baby dragon during their first year. For the past four years, she'd led a sort of double life. When she was among the Gryffindor gang she was Hermione; the smart-mouthed Ravenclaw who ran with the brave and reckless. She never went blatantly against the rules . . . Not on purpose anyway.

"You could say that," She said, "although I'd prefer it if you didn't," She added as an afterthought. Dumbledore's gaze was knowing and as ever unnerving.

"This is not common knowledge, is it Miss McClair?" He asked. She was growing properly irritated by this line of questioning.

"What are you getting at, with all due respect I have places to be Professor."

"I am simply trying to gauge your point of view on politics, Miss McClair," said Dumbledore in a measured tone. _'Wouldn't you like to know,'_ thought Hermione.

"If I had to choose a party, New Democratic," a safe enough answer. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"Thank you," this was clearly her signal to leave. She stood and walked to the door, "And Miss McClair, don't be late for Potions class," He added as she closed the office.

Hermione couldn't look at a Slytherin house table, so she didn't see Daphne until the girl was right next to her. She maneuvered her long legs over the bench and took a drumstick from Hermione's plate.

"Ugh, I was starving," She proclaimed after swallowing her first bite. "Thanks."

"Yeah," said Hermione with a slight grimace.

"I was coming over here to ask what you were doing today? Like you didn't even make it to Study Hall, I mean I need you for this Arithmancy essay," said Daphne waved a bubble gum coloured fingernails in Hermione's face.

"Right," she smiled, "I'll help you with it in the library after I get a bite." With that, she turned back to her meal.

Daphne used studying as an excuse to gossip and Hermione didn't mind, not really. She easily copied all the information she could find in defense of game theory and it's connections with Arithmancy. It was a fascinating branch of study, and Hermione was soon lost in it. She forgot Daphne was supposed to be telling her all about Lavender Brown and Theo Nott's alleged romance, and what a slut Mandy Broklehurst probably was, to which Hermione's only response was; "Don't say things like that," without any real annoyance, she had long ago accepted Daphne's overuse of terms like that. Slut was practically a term of endearment to Daphne. This in Mrs. McClair's opinion really called into question Mrs. Greengrass's parenting skills.

Hermione spent the rest of the week lost in academia and through that she slipped back into regular life. Draco didn't mention the instant by the lake so Hermione didn't either. She laughed and played along and it wasn't as hard as she had thought it would be, not really. Draco appealed to her parents about the detentions and Umbridge realized who she was, and that, of course, nothing had really happened. She locked the knowledge of her mudblood status in safe inside her mind and forgot all about the Muggle-born Slytherin.

 **A.N. Thanks so much to everyone who wrote a reviewed followed or favorited. It means a lot and I'll try to be a better writer and get these chapters up faster. As for a theme song, I've had a hard time finding a song that matched the theme in lyrics, but as I was writing this I was listening to _'Smother' - by Daughter_ on Spotify. It doesn't quite fit but I really enjoy the song. **

**\- Cress**


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